


Sunset Crowds Under Empty Streets

by newyorktopaloalto



Series: Derry's Premier Murder/Turtle Cult [1]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Character Study, Every IT canon wrapped into one fic, F/M, Humor, Introspection, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Post-Canon, prose, some formatting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-01-25 20:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newyorktopaloalto/pseuds/newyorktopaloalto
Summary: The seven of them had survived - they had managed to kill It with nothing more than a pair of silver earrings, fake battery acid, and the literal power of friendship - and it was now time to leave Derry for good.Changes were inevitable, but the things that truly mattered would always stay the same.[A series of conversations between seven PTSD-bonded childhood friends during their last night in Derry, Maine.]
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Series: Derry's Premier Murder/Turtle Cult [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1522892
Comments: 32
Kudos: 312





	1. Richie

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own IT. 
> 
> The official Part I of the 'Derry's Premier Murder/Turtle Cult' series. This is definitely less crack-y than the e-media parts, but I think it stays true to the little universe I've created. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

**Richie Tozier ✔ @thefakerichietozier** reunion with my childhood friends & all i got was the lousy reminder that none of them know i’m also into dudes #feelsbadman  


> **@joshuametsmetsmets replied to @thefakerichietozier**  

>
>> dude whrs the punchline?
> 
>   
**@danielle531 replied to @thefakerichietozier**  

>
>> I like the new material. I think. But I might j ust not get it.
> 
>   
**@jameseyre replied to @thefakerichietozier**  

>
>> im gonna prrint this tweet n give it to everyone i meet

**TMZ ✔ @TMZ** Stand-up comedian _@thefakerichietozier_ comes out via tweet just days after his on-stage meltdown in Chicago. http://bit.ly/530rtfg.

* * *

“Richie?” 

Richie opened the door and leaned against the frame - his aim at nonchalance was offset by his grimace as he looked down and towards the phone Stan was holding. 

“Ah.” 

“Yeah.” 

Despite his usual wont, Richie let the cloying silence hang over the two of them. After a few moments, however, he started to fidget, clutching the back of his neck with one hand as the other started to tap out a nervous beat against the wallpaper. 

“I’m so proud of you, Richie. I’m really -” 

Stan shook his head a little and Richie stilled his body, mildly stupefied, as Stan wrapped his arms around Richie and brought him into a tight hug. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Richie said, tightening his grip on Stan’s body as he let himself breathe for what seemed to be the first time since his return to Derry. 

After a couple more moments of peace, however, Richie couldn’t help but tack on, “But what will your wife think, Stanley? She seems like a real fucking peach and I hate to break up your little love fest.” 

He paused, letting the joke settle between them for a beat. 

“Get it? Georgia -”

“I get it - dick.” 

Richie grinned against the top of Stan’s head before finally pulling away from their hold on one another. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” 

“I see why you have a ghostwriter,” Stan said, patting Richie’s shoulders a couple of times before settling back to a reasonable distance. “I don’t think your sense of humor has changed since high school.” 

“Yeah, well -” Richie started, shrugging a little - chastened and only now quite remembering why, giddy and realizing that his past now laid out his future, nerves intersecting with neurons at a blinding speed - before continuing. “- soon, too, the rest of the world will experience every single one of my spectacular prepubescent stories.” 

“Please don’t subject everyone else to that, I beg of you,” Stan said - the twitch in his lips, however, and his motion for Richie to join the rest of them downstairs belied his words, and Richie followed him down the hall after only a moment’s hesitation. 

“So what’s the plan?” Richie asked immediately upon entering the threshold to the bar of the inn. “Mikey-boy gets let out tomorrow morning, and then what?” 

“I’d like for all of you to meet Audra,” Bill offered up into the ringing silence that had been the response to Richie’s question. “If none of you have particularly pressing plans…” 

The rest of his sentence was left unsaid, but even Richie could hear the echo of ‘back home’ that, after the last few days, felt almost inadequate to ascribe solely to their respective places of residence. 

“The good thing about owning your own company,” Bev said, running her nail against the rim of her glass of whiskey that, judging by the half-melted cubes of ice, she had been nursing for awhile, “is that you can disappear for a few weeks and no one’ll question you.”

She paused before smiling a little. “Especially when you tell your assistant that you’re finally going through with those separation papers she’s had on file for you.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “To everything you just said.” Richie watched him nod before wincing as his burgeoning grin undoubtedly stretched out the stitches in his cheek. 

“Except I don’t have an assistant and just need to call my lawyer.” 

And then, because never let it be said that Richard Tozier’s life was nothing more than a series of flukes and good graces, Eddie turned to face Richie with a raised eyebrow, challenging, already primed and ready for the joke coming his way. 

Richie didn’t have a joke. 

“I don’t know how much of a career I have right now,” he said instead, staring right back at Eddie - a make it or break it moment, and for the first time in his fucking life Richie wasn’t afraid of what had always been right in front of him. “I went psycho on stage before going AWOL for almost a week, and I also just came out on twitter via the world’s shittiest joke.” He paused. “I most likely don’t even have a manager anymore, so I’m good to hang out and remenice.” 

Stan sighed. “Well, if we’re all going to be depressing and stay in Derry, then I suppose I’ll tell Patty to come up and meet everyone as well.” 

“We could go to Portland?” Ben said, the end of his sentence hinging on a question. “I have a place kind of by there. Never stayed, but I saw the property and couldn’t pass it by.” 

He smiled. “Never liked Maine, but could never let it go. Now I know why.” 

“That sounds good,” Bill agreed easily, cutting off any argument that might have ensued. “I want to get the fuck out of here, but…” 

“I forgot how much I missed you guys,” Ben finished for him. 

“Me too,” Stan said. “I remembered more than, I think, most of you did, but it wasn’t any of the good things.” 

“Remember when I snuck into orchestra for half a semester in sophomore year, and your teacher didn’t even fucking notice?” 

“She knew, but thought you were just a prodigy. You could’ve been first chair after a damn month.” 

“Well, there’s another good thing,” Richie said. “For your memory bank.” 

“Debatable,” Stan replied before turning away from Richie with a pointed air. 

“What’s the address of your place, Ben? I want to know which airport it’s closest to.” 

“Uh,” Ben said, “It’s out in the sticks - so none of them.” 

“You saying that,” Bill started, eyeing Ben up and down with an assessed intensity that, on anyone else, could have been mistaken as lingering, “reminds me of the beginning of every bad horror film I’ve ever seen.” 

“Let’s all go to Ben’s cabin in the woods,” Bev said, finishing the rest of her drink with a flourish and slamming the empty glass on the bar countertop. “Sounds like a party.”

* * *

“Those’ll kill you, you know.” 

Richie only just stopped himself from blowing his cigarette smoke into Bill’s face and instead proffered his pack of reds to him, shaking one out as Bill made an interested noise. 

“You got a light?” 

He threw his lighter at Bill’s head and watched, disgruntled, as Bill caught it easily. 

“I’m gonna go back to the hospital,” Bill said mildly, before lighting up and taking a long drag. “Stay the night with Mike.” 

“Dude, someone else can do that.” Richie wasn’t exactly concerned by Bill’s insistence on keeping vigil at the hospital, but he also knew that Bill was the only one of them who hadn’t taken a real rest since getting into town. “I’d be happy to sit with Mike and spam him YouTube videos until he throws me out and gets some sleep as well.” 

“No, I want to go,” Bill replied after a couple of beats; Richie half-hoped he had been seriously considering his offer, but he knew that Bill’s hesitation most likely stemmed from thinking through his words before actually saying them. “And it’s not misplaced guilt or anything - I know that everyone else will be here and be safe, and I want to be the one there for him.” 

“If you’re _sure_,” Richie said after a protracted pause. 

“A couple decades finally gave you empathy, huh?” 

“Fuck off, Bill.” 

Bill laughed in Richie’s face, and Richie felt a piece of himself settle in his core at his bright expression. He had been missing these six people - virtual strangers in a virtual age - for the very life of him; everything and nothing had changed, and Richie couldn’t help the swell in his throat at the thought. 

Richie took a final drag off his cigarette before throwing it down on the sidewalk to crush it with the toe of his boot. The few seconds it took him to lean down and pick up the butt was enough to quell whatever emotions were clogging his throat and his question of ‘see you in the morning?’ came out shockingly normal. 

“Mike and I’ll be here early as possible. So tell them all not to be too hungover when we get back.” 

“Aye, aye, cap’n.” Richie waved Bill off with a jaunty two-fingered salute and, for lack of anything better to do and not wanting to crawl back to the bar to shoot the shit with the rest of the group, lit up another cigarette. 

The sound of Bill’s car faded as he pulled down the street, but Richie didn’t look away from the tail lights until they blinked around the corner. 

“What’re you doing out here, Rich? It’s getting late.” 

“It’s like 10 P.M., Eds,” Richie said, turning away from the street so he could face Eddie fully. The porch light glinted against the wire frames of his glasses and Richie sucked in his bottom lip in order to avoid saying something that might, now that they were older and had time to look back on the memories, be construed differently by him. 

“And I’m smoking.” 

“That’ll kill you,” Eddie started, “fucking dumb ass.” 

“You want one?”

Eddie paused. “Are they those shit menthol ones you used to smoke freshman year?” 

“Why, you interested in a career in space?” Richie asked rhetorically, already in the process of taking another out of his pack.

He lit the end of Eddie’s cigarette with his own cherry before handing it over, deliberately ignoring the way Eddie seemed to be trying to stare right through Richie. 

“What?” he finally snapped out after the silence had stretched out, became thin and wavering and full of all the words Richie had felt on the back of his tongue since he had come back into town and had seen Eddie again. 

“Nothing,” Eddie said automatically, taking a drag off of his cigarette - Richie was duly impressed that he didn’t even wince, but for all he knew Eddie could have been a secret smoker for the last twenty years. 

They stood, looking at each other, for a beat. 

“I’m gay.” 

Richie’s mind went blank. 

“Congratulations?” he offered weakly and immediately dragged his hand up his face. “Jesus Christ, I didn’t mean -”

He was cut off by the bark of Eddie’s startled-out laughter; hearing it, sharp and unrestrained, gave Richie fucking heart palpitations, and wasn’t that something? 

“I figured -” Eddie wheezed out after a few more moments and, inanely, all Richie could think about was the fact that Eddie had literal stitches and Richie had also just put him in stitches, “- I figured that coming out to someone who literally just did the same thing would - oh fuck, I haven’t laughed that hard in _years_ \- would garner me a better reaction than ‘congratulations.’ Oh my God, Rich, you dingus.” 

“Well, everyone basically just ignored mine, so at least you got a reaction, Eds Spagheds.” 

With that said, however, Richie pulled Eddie in close and pressed a rough kiss to the top of his head. “I’m proud of you, Eddie.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure,” Eddie replied, but his blasé tone was negated by the tight grip on the back of Richie’s shirt, bunching the material a little at the small of his back as Eddie finished catching his breath from his fit of nervous laughter. 

“I am,” Richie insisted. “I mean, if nothing else, I’m glad the alien murder clown gave us something out of the experience.” 

“Aside from the PTSD.” 

“Exactly.” Richie took another drag off of his cigarette over Eddie’s head; Eddie, despite his usual wont, didn’t say a goddamn word about it. 

“You okay, Eds?” 

“I’m…” He paused. “I feel better than I have in a long while, Rich. And that’s something, I guess.” 

“That’s something,” he agreed easily, pulling away from the hug as Eddie’s loosened grip on his clothing. 

They stepped back to a respectable distance and Richie couldn’t help the little thrill that went through his body as Eddie grinned up at him, before looking away as he noticed Richie had already been staring. Quiet prevailed, then, for a few moments, before Eddie pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with his knuckle. 

It had been over two decades since they had seen one another but Richie still felt his breath catch at the minutiae of Eddie’s movements, still felt as though every little thing Eddie Kaspbrak did would be the death of him - Richie wouldn’t really mind dying, if it meant keeping this. 

“Your glasses make you look even cuter,” he finally said. “I mean, not that you weren’t basically all of my middle school wet dreams, but the glasses, Eddie, baby…” 

Richie trailed off and gave Eddie a double-thumbs up. 

“Oh my God,” Eddie said, and Richie could see the flush enter his cheeks, the barely controlled nervous tics that Eddie used to always give off when Richie said something he secretly liked but would never admit to. “Beep fucking beep, Richie, what the fuck?” 

“I’m on a streak of honesty, Eddie, I’m gonna keep going until there’s nothing left.” 

“Be honest about something else then, Jesus.” 

But he was smiling a little, and honesty seemed to be working spectacularly well for Richie at the moment; Richie took a steadying breath, threw down his cigarette, and grabbed Eddie’s wrist - he didn’t know whose pulse he felt against his thumb, but the way Eddie had dropped his own cigarette like a hot potato seemed make the distinction unnecessary. 

“I was desperately in love with you. For so many years that, looking back, it’s not even funny.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie replied, stepping in on the end of Richie’s statement. “Me too.” 

Richie closed his eyes and let out a breath. 

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Now what?”

* * *

  
**Mr. Manager**  
Are you going to make a comment, Richie? 

**Mr. Manager**  
I can see that you’ve read this, Richie. 

**Mr. Manager**  
PR is riding my ass, so you better give me SOMETHING to work with. 

**Richie**  
at reunion. 

**Richie**  
will have comment next week.

**Richie**  
sorry about coming out on twitter. 

**Richie**  
:) 


	2. Ben

  
**Ben**  
Do you have the house code to the place near Portland, ME? I’m going to be staying there for the next week or so. 

**Leanne**  
0657 for the front… 3189 for the house. 

**Leanne**  
Enjoy your vacation--Steve or I will call if we need anything. 

**Ben**  
Thanks!

* * *

“And then there were four,” Bev said as the front door closed behind Bill. 

“Can we stop with all the horror movie shit?” Eddie asked - to Ben, however, it seemed as though half of his mind was still on the front door, on who was on the other side of it and had been for the last ten minutes. “We’re not in a fucking horror movie.” 

“Anymore.” The quip came out before Ben could even think about it and for one inane moment he wondered who had spoken. 

Bev hid her laughter behind her hand for a moment, before she dropped it to grin brightly in Ben’s general direction. Her smile was simultaneously a new experience and a familiar comfort, something that Ben knew he could see every day for the rest of his life without tiring of - he had known that just the same at thirteen, but emotional maturity and years of experience imbued the realization with a gravitas that grounded him now, rather than setting him adrift as it so often had in his youth.

“Oh, so you think you’re a comedian now, too, huh?” Eddie sniped, before throwing him a wry smile as Stan gave into Bev’s laughter. 

“I know three jokes and all of them are about architecture,” Ben said. “I just really do think our lives read like a bad horror movie.” 

“Don’t let Bill hear you say that,” Bev replied, reaching behind the bar to grab at the closest bottle, “or he might write a book.

“Anyone want a drink?” 

“Of Amaretto? I’ll pass.” 

“Meant to grab the brandy,” Bev said, sticking her tongue out at Stan, who smiled blithely and leaned over the bar, himself, to grab a bottle of wine. 

“So how big’s your place?” 

Stan held out a glass of wine in front of Ben’s nose and he took it away before turning to face Eddie. 

“I don’t even know, honestly. I think it’s maybe five or six rooms?” He shrugged. “I just bought the property and never made definitive plans for its use.” 

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “I swear to God, if we get there and it’s _decrepit_ or some shit…” 

“We keep maintenance on it,” Ben said; every reminder that some things never changed was nice - that Eddie would always be a little bit hypochondriacal, that Stan always roll his eyes at their antics while pretending not to enjoy it just as much as the rest of them, that Bev would always… That Bev would always be Beverly. 

The roar of an engine interrupted Eddie’s half-asked continuance. 

“Do you think he feels guilty?” Bev asked. 

Stan sighed and took a long drink of his wine. “Probably. 

“Not that he’d admit it like that.”

“Not that any of us would,” Ben said, shrugging and taking a sip of his own wine as Bev, Stan, and Eddie turned to look at him. “We all feel guilty - we were able to forget. And in some ways that was a good thing, while in others it wasn’t. But we were able to forget them all the same.” 

Stan hummed but a guarded look came over him, as though Ben had touched on something that he didn’t particularly want to think about; Ben’s inability to read Stan’s expression was a reminder that some things, however, could not help but change. 

“I’m gonna go and see what Richie’s up to,” Eddie said into the silence - Ben shared a look with Bev but they hid their conspiratorial smiles from Eddie as Bev waved him out of the room. 

It was about the time the front door had closed behind Eddie that Stan poured himself another glass of wine. 

“I almost killed myself.” 

Ben blinked and found himself halfway over to Stan in a second flat. 

“What?” Ben heard Bev ask quietly, and she was a blur as she sidled closer to Stan as well. 

“I remembered. Not everything, but… enough.” He laughed a little and as Ben placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip tightened on the stem of his glass. 

“I didn’t want you guys to - I didn’t want to be a _burden_. I remember thinking ‘this is the only way to keep everyone else alive,’ and I almost…” 

He trailed off and shrugged, tense under Ben’s hand until he pulled Stan into a backwards hug. 

“Without you there, at least one of us would have died,” Bev said, and Ben didn’t know how she knew with such certainty that that would have been the case, but he wasn’t about to dispute her conviction with a 10-foot pole. 

“I know,” Stan replied, “and I think I knew it then. It’s why I didn’t go through with it, in the end.” 

Bev hugged Stan from the front, then, and Ben heard him huff out a breath of laughter as he was squeezed tight from both sides. 

“Love you, Stan,” Bev whispered, and Ben echoed her words only a moment later. 

“We’re all going to remember everything now, I promise.” 

Stan nodded from in between the two of them, before starting to break himself away from their holds. “Okay, you two, let me go now.” 

“No,” Bev whined, “I haven’t had a proper Stanley Uris hug in over twenty years - I’m going to savor this.” 

She shooed Ben away from Stan’s back, then, and winked at him as he pouted a little. “You’ll get your own Stan hug after, I promise.” 

“You can’t barter me like this,” Stan protested weakly, bringing his arms up to pull Bev into a proper hug. “I’m my own person, you know.” 

“You say that,” Ben said, “but you also make it sound more like a question more than anything else.” 

“I cannot believe that the second you two get together you start tag-teaming your harassment. Unbelievable.” Stan scoffed and pulled out of Bev’s hug but kept his arms open for Ben’s. 

“I’m going to call Patty before somebody glues me to their side,” he said after Ben finally had the thought to let him go. 

“You know it’s going to be like this with everyone,” Bev teased. “You might have Richie coming to live with you and your wife if you’re not careful.” 

Stan grimaced. “You said that and now it’s going to come true. For shame, Bev Marsh.” 

He drained the last of his wine, threw a wink at Ben, and disappeared up the stairs. 

“And then there were two,” Ben said, pouring the rest of the bottle of wine into their two glasses with more flourish than he usually would - Bev’s smile, although real, was distracted and it took her a couple of tries to actually grab her glass, her focus somewhere in the middle distance. 

“What’s wrong, Beverly?” 

“There’s things I need to take care of in the city,” she started, leaning against the bar with her elbows and fixing Ben with a look that he couldn’t quite interpret. “Things I need to take care of in person.” 

“Gonna skip out on my murder cabin, then?” Ben asked, folding her right hand between both of his. “That’s okay, I’d want you to be the final girl anyways.” 

“No way - if you’re going to go crazy and kill everyone, I want to experience the terror as well.” She laughed and squeezed Ben’s hand, placing her left hand on the nape of his neck. 

“After that, I mean. And I know that it’s a lot to ask, and I know that -”

“Bev,” Ben interrupted, “I’ll do whatever you need me to, okay? In whatever capacity you need me in.” 

She gripped Ben tightly around his middle, then, and he held back onto her - a little desperate, but mostly just content to fully remember what he had been missing. 

“God, I need a smoke,” Bev said after a few minutes. They didn’t let go of each other. “Let’s go out the back, though.” 

“Don’t want to interrupt the budding lovebirds?” Ben asked. “I forgot how they were.” 

“I forgot how we all were. How _I_ was.” 

Ben nodded, and his ‘yeah’ came out more wistful than he had intended it to be. “I missed you. I missed everyone.” 

“And we didn’t even fucking know that we did.” 

“And we didn’t even know,” Ben agreed. 

They let go of one another, then, but Bev led Ben out the back kitchen door by the hand. And that? That was more than enough.

* * *

“What’re you up to this late?” 

Ben asked his question around a yawn and made his way over to the sink. He filled a glass up with tap water and sat himself across from Eddie and his open laptop. 

“I realized that my lawyer is corporate - I hired him for my damn company. So I’m finding a specialist.” 

“You’re in New York, right?” 

“Yeah, so I’ll be divorced in about ten fucking years.” 

He shrugged, then, before starting to clean off his glasses. “I figure I’ll just let Myra have everything except the company and screw it all, you know? Easier, that’s for fucking sure.” 

Ben hummed his commiseration and pat Eddie’s hand a couple of times before leaning back in his own chair. 

“But my depressing-ass life doesn’t really matter, it’ll be over soon enough and I’ll be outta it. 

“Why’re _you_ up at-?” Eddie paused and looked at the time on his laptop. “-at 3:14 in the morning?” 

“I haven’t been to sleep,” Ben said. “Been staring up at the ceiling and trying to, I don’t know, hear everyone else breathe or something.

“It’s stupid.” 

“No, it makes sense,” Eddie said after a few seconds, tapping his fingers against the keys of his computer with quick, efficient motions. “Even if I weren’t worrying over everything else in my goddamn life, I’d probably still be up anyways.” 

He looked up from the glow of his screen and raised an eyebrow at Ben. Ben, who had never been particularly adept at reading Eddie’s moods, blinked back at him. 

“You wanna help me out with this, or not? Gives you something to do, and helps me out as well.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Ben said, unlocking his phone and checking the percentage. “Who do you want me to research?” 

“Donovan and Kirk, and then O’Meara, Clark, and Liebowitz.” 

“How many firms is that?”

“Two,” Eddie replied. 

They worked in silence for a little, before Eddie groaned. Ben glanced up and smiled a little at Eddie’s disgruntled expression. 

“So, you and Bev?” Eddie asked apropos of nothing, and Ben felt his heart almost stop at the sudden question. 

“Um,” he started, licking his lips before taking another sip of his water. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“Good.” 

Ben went back to his research when Eddie didn’t say anything else. The light clacking of Eddie’s fingers on his keyboard were the only sounds for a few moments. 

“It’s good to see you again.” 

“Okay,” Ben started, turning off his phone to stare directly at Eddie. “It’s good to see you too. Now what’s up?” 

“Nothing,” Eddie said, and then immediately added, “It’s just nice. Having friends like you guys again.” 

“Yeah,” Ben agreed. “It is.” 

Both of them turned as footsteps stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. It was, unsurprisingly, Richie - eyes bleary and hunched over on himself - lingering in the doorway. 

“What’re you guys up to?” he asked, throwing himself down in the chair next to Eddie’s before stealing Ben’s water and guzzling the rest of it down. 

“Researching divorce lawyers,” Eddie said, his vaguely constipated expression clear to even Ben as his ‘Richie’s being annoyingly endearing’ face. 

“Ooh, fun, can I join? Could always use another divorce lawyer on retainer.” 

“Why are you awake?” Eddie asked sharply, and Ben grinned behind his hand. 

“Fuckin’ couldn’t even fall asleep, Eddie Spaghetti, but what else is new?”

“Well, at this rate, none of us will be awake enough to drive out of Derry tomorrow.” 

Stan walked into the kitchen and just behind him trailed Bev - they took places at the table easily, and even though they were missing two of their friends, just knowing that they were close and safe was more than Ben had had throughout the entirety of his adult life. Just knowing them at all was more than he anything else he had before. 

“Maybe Bill and Mike got some sleep,” he offered, knowing as well as the rest of them that it was more than unlikely. 

Stan snorted. 

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Eddie asked, turning back to his laptop again and - with a show of sheer will that Ben couldn’t hope to emulate - completely ignored Richie leaning over his shoulder to peer at what he was doing. 

“Sleep is for squares,” Bev said flippantly, before reaching out to capture Ben’s hand with her own; Ben’s breath caught a little. “And none of us are squares.” 

“I am,” Stan said easily, “but not enough of one to sleep.” 

“Stan the man, livin’ it up with the rest of us,” Richie crowed softly, and grinned when Eddie stifled a snort. 

It was three thirty in the morning and the five of them were in a half-lit kitchen, still in the hell-hole that was Derry, Maine, and they had all almost died over a dozen times in the past three days - Ben couldn’t even remember the last time he had such a perfect night.

* * *

  
**Ben**  
It finally happened. 

**Ben**  
I’m sorry, Stace.

**Stacy**  
I am in Greece and surrounded by hot men. 

**Stacy**  
I think I’ll be fine. ;) 

**Stacy**  
Good luck, babe. 


	3. Bill

  
**Bill**  
How quickly can you get here?

**Audra**  
That is literally a cabin in the middle of Maine. 

**Audra**  
It’s rude to kill your actress wife like the first person to die in a horror movie, William. 

**Audra**  
But how did everything go?

**Audra**  
[selfie83.png] xoxo 

**Audra**  
I’ll see you tomorrow night. 

**Bill**  
I love you. 

**Bill**  
And we’re all still alive - so it went great, considering. 

**Audra**  
[...]  
[...]  
[Read at 9:52 P.M.] 

* * *

Bill didn’t bother using his turn signal as he rounded the corner past the inn - there was nobody on the road in Derry at this time of night. Even the street lights - flickering and buzzing in all the same patterns they had done in the eighties and nineties - seemed to dim as soon as the hustle and bustle of the evening’s teenaged cavorting ran aground and into more secretive of pastures. But when he rolled down the window the air he breathed in was fresh, fresher than he had ever tasted in this godforsaken town since Georgie’s death; though some things in Derry would never change - some things were simply too entrenched into small-town life to ever really change - the scent of nature seemed to signal to Bill that, with each passing hour, It’s last vestiges of power and influence faded away as though they never were. 

He hugged the greenbelt for a few blocks before his headlights briefly illuminated a small group of teens sharing a joint - in Bill’s mind, however, the group became the Losers Club, young and angst-ridden, heartbroken and fighting for survival, together and against the rest of the world. 

Memory was a funny little thing. One second he was in his forties - aching back and bags under his eyes, years of hopes fighting years of realities - and the next he was back in his teens. And it’s only for a moment that he sees the overlay, until the car passes by with enough force that the teens cheer at his invisible race, and Bill knows he’s going way past the speed limit, but… 

Memory might be the death of him. 

Because Mike had almost died and Bill had only just remembered him. Any one of his six best friends could have died, and all Bill would have had were half-completed stories, histories with redaction, a list of what google could find for him and his own imaginings of what life could have been like with them. It wouldn’t have been enough - nowhere near enough - but it was almost all he had; he supposed he should have been grateful, because only a week ago Bill didn’t even have vague recollections of the people that had helped form him, let alone full sequences of his childhood endeavors, but… 

Memories were like that - he always wanted to make more. 

The light turned red; Bill’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, foot slowly easing off the brake as his slow inching raced the light to its green. Every second he spent was an eternity, tapping the wheel impatiently as he entered into the unspoken but agreed upon crosswalk, and while Bill knew that nothing could possibly happen in the three extra minutes it would take him to get to the hospital, he couldn’t help the stinging impatience as he watched the cross-light turn yellow. His foot was on the gas pedal before the light even clicked green - Derry police, however, had never been known for their concern regarding late night traffic, and that was something that Bill could never see changing about the town. 

Bill kept his gaze trained away from the sheriff’s station as he passed it - the last few decades had done nothing to ease his resentment towards Derry’s premier law enforcement, their obstinate disregard, their nonchalance during the hardest times of his life - and exhaled sharply as he turned the corner to see the sign for Mercy General. It was a trip that normally took twenty minutes, but as Bill glanced at the car’s stereo, he realized that he had halved that time; need, in the end and after all, bred brashness - Bill didn’t find himself particularly caring of anyone else on the road that might impede him from arriving at his destination. He hung the right turn into the complex without checking for traffic, barely managing to squeak in front of another late-night commuter - the person he cut off didn’t even deign to honk their horn at him and Bill found himself still more surprised than not by the differences between LA traffic and Small Town, Maine traffic. 

He swung into a parking spot, a little crooked and barely in the lines, and jogged over to the entrance of the building. There were a couple of people in the lobby - a father with a sniffling toddler, two women chatting in a couple of chairs in the corner - but they were too involved with their own problems to bother looking up at him as he took a couple of heavy breaths before making his way up to the nurse’s station. 

There was going to be a scene - Bill sensed that the second the nurse raised an eyebrow and looked him over, her lip curling a little before she trained a professionally pleasant smile on him. Bill was going to have to make a scene before he would be allowed to see Mike, because the fucking night nurse sure wouldn’t let him in without a fight. 

“Can I help you, sir?” 

“Bill Denbrough. I’m here to see Michael Hanlon.” Bill paused, considering his next words carefully - he didn’t want to escalate the situation until he absolutely had to, but a pointed question surely wouldn’t go amiss, would it? “Visiting hours are 24/7, correct?” 

“Of course.” 

She handed him a paper to sign-in. 

Bill blinked. 

“I read a couple of your novels,” she said as he handed over the paper. She printed his name tag and handed it over; Bill, a little thrown, took it without saying a word. “I stopped when I realized all your endings were…” 

“Terrible?” Bill suggested. 

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Do you know where his room is, or do you need an escort, Mr. Denbrough?” 

“I remember where it is,” Bill said. “But thanks.” 

“Of course.” 

“And I’m reconsidering my endings. Might want to try whichever one comes out next.” 

He nodded to her and headed down the hallway, abandoned even by the security guard that was usually on duty at the small station by the elevator - Bill suspected a clandestine smoke break, not thinking that anyone would be coming through at this time, not in Derry, not on a Thursday night after everything had finally settled down once more; it didn’t take long for the people of Derry to go off of alert, but then again, it never had before. 

Idly, Bill wondered if the people here would, twenty-seven years from now, start to open their eyes, keeping their children inside and close by, only to find that this time nothing would happen - this time there would be nothing to be afraid of except the knowledge that they were still in Derry. 

Bypassing the elevator, Bill took the stairs two at a time - there was no reason to be at the mercy of anything he couldn’t control himself, and an elevator was most certainly something that his own force of will could never hope to have control of. He paused at the entrance door to the third floor, hesitating on the stairwell as he pushed the bar in but didn’t swing the door open. 

Was it strange, going back Mike’s room after he had insisted for them to leave and get some rest? Bill didn’t think so - didn’t feel comfortable knowing that Mike was here all by himself when everyone else was drinking away the night at the inn, that the seven of them couldn’t be together after they finally dropped from their adrenaline high, stumbling and weak and ecstatic that they had managed to defeat It without having to lose any one of them to its monstrous grip - but it had been a long time since they had all seen one another, and maybe Bill’s crushing concern wasn’t normal, something neither wanted nor appreciated. 

But the seven of them had never been particularly normal, even before the year that had bound them together for life. Their memories gone, their time away from each other, none of that mattered when they all came back together to the town that had given up on them long before they on it - a rag-tag group of friends that had managed to forget everything important - and believed fully in each other, in themselves, for the first time in decades. 

Bill opened the door to the hallway of the third floor. His footsteps echoed hollowly on the scuffed tile and, unlike every medical drama he had seen, he couldn’t hear the steady beeps of heart monitors or the breaths of the patients through the door of every room he passed on the way to Mike’s. There was a cough from an open door, a rustle at another, and a steady tap tap tapping on the pane of the window at the end of the hallway from a tree branch that hadn’t seen shears in probable years. 

It was more than a little creepy, and Bill could set the scene in his mind’s eye - a woman walking to the room at the end of the hall, having to pass directly underneath the window in order to get back to the hospital room of her ailing lover; she would pause to stare as the tapping stopped as she passed, a shiver racing through her body as she knew not to look but unable to stop herself from doing the very thing that would most likely get her killed. He wondered, then, if it would be trite to set his next novel in a hospital. And against Bill’s better judgment, his brain started to compartmentalize thoughts into ideas - trains of sentences and motifs turning and twisting into one another until half-formed paragraphs churned in the cabinets of his mind. Paranormal happenings, demons, and otherworldly creatures were the traits of his trade, and fear was his driving force - in some ways, Derry would always keep him the same. 

He knocked three times on the door frame of Mike’s room before entering, raising an eyebrow at Mike, who looked up from the book he was reading with an equally amused expression. They stared at one another for a few moments, before Bill walked fully into the room and dropped into the seat he had evacuated only a few hours before. 

“Hey, Mikey.” 

“Hey, Billy.” 

A pause. Bill crossed his legs and blinked hard, wishing that he had bitten the metaphorical bullet and taken out his contacts - three days and a trip to the sewer to fight an evil space alien had put them to their limit and Bill knew that soon he would be forced to take them out. 

“You okay?” Mike asked. 

“Yeah,” Bill said. “Are you?” 

“Better that someone’s here,” Mike admitted easily. “I was half thinking I’d wake up tomorrow and you’d all have forgotten again.” 

“Couldn’t keep us away,” Bill said. “But you might regret that soon enough.” 

“I don’t think that would be possible.” He paused. “That was the one thing about remembering - I knew that no friendship could be as perfect as the one we all had.” 

“I think we knew that too,” Bill replied. And it was true enough, at least for himself - because he had friends, good friends even, but there had always been something missing, a piece of the puzzle of his life that had been forgotten in the repression and the supernatural bullshit that It had put them through as children. “Life was fine enough, and I - at least - was happy. But…” 

“It wasn’t anywhere near the same.” 

“Right.” 

Mike sighed. “I shouldn’t be glad to hear that, but… I really am.” 

“Yeah,” Bill agreed. “Honestly? Me too.

“Hey, so, I know you want to get the hell outta Derry, and the rest of us do too, but we were thinking of heading to Haystack’s place near Portland.” He licked his lips and shrugged, not wanting to force Mike’s hand, but unwilling to let Mike - let any of them, really - gallivant off into the sunset without a proper goodbye. “We’re thinking of taking a week and really having a reunion. 

“Audra’s going to come up, and so is Stan’s wife.” 

“I’m not going to say no, Big Bill,” Mike said as Bill took in a breath to be able to continue his list of reasons that Mike should postpone the only thing he had wanted to do for years, postpone his life for a group of friends that for decades only he could remember - Bill knew that it was wholly too much to ask, but he also knew that Mike, that none of them, would think of it as anything less than expected. “I missed you. I missed everyone. Getting out of Derry is enough of a step for me for the next week. I’ll do out of state the week after - catch a plane at the airport with the rest of you.” 

“Well, if you need a place to keep your stuff,” Bill replied, “Audra and I have an extra room - it can be yours for whenever you need a home base.” 

“Shouldn’t you be asking Audra first?” Mike retorted, but Bill could tell by his smile that he was pleasantly surprised by the offer. 

“She’ll be fine.” Bill waved away any concern that Mike might have had easily, knowing his wife like he knew no one else - except for, maybe, the six other freaks from Derry that managed to keep it all together enough to do what had seemed impossible. 

Because Bill had known that It wasn’t really dead the first time, that the oath he had made them all swear would come to fruition soon enough. What Bill hadn’t known, however, was if they would all come back, if they would all still be whole after the second time around, if they would manage to win. He hadn’t known, but he had hoped. 

Hope, in the end, had been more than enough.

* * *

**Bill Denbrough ✔ @billdenbrough58** The rain in Maine lands plainly in the drain.  


> **@lindseysbooklistblog replied to @billdenbrough58**  

>
>> Is this a teaser for your new novel?
> 
>   
**@samsreadsforthesoul replied to @billdenbrough58**  

>
>>   
Enjoying the homage, but mildly perturbed as to its possible meaning.

**Horror Book Info @horrorbooksinformation** Author Bill Denbrough tweets cryptic message. See speculation about his newest possible book here.


	4. Stan

Stanley Uris created the document List of Ways I’m Obviously Crazy

Stanley Uris shared the document List of Ways I’m Obviously Crazy with Patricia Uris

  
**Stanley Uris**  
Feel free to edit your own reasons into the list.

**Patricia Uris**  
I will.

Patricia Uris made one (1) change to the document List of Ways I’m Obviously Crazy  


> _#9, cont. - Your wife must be just as crazy, because she agreed to also come up to Maine on short-notice to visit you and your PTSD-bonded childhood friends._

* * *

Stan stepped outside, shivering a little as the cool air hit him. He should have brought a sweater out with him, but there was no use going back in now. It was quiet but not still - there were crickets chirping and the distant roar of traffic from the interstate - and Stan didn’t notice Eddie leaning against the railing until he puffed out a loud breath. 

“I thought you went inside with Richie,” Stan said, trying not to let his racing heart betray him. Eddie grinned and Stan knew that he had been made. 

“You’re just as much of an asshole as you used to be,” he finally said, rolling his eyes as Eddie snorted out a laugh. 

“I never understood why people always thought I wouldn’t be.”

“We all are,” Stan agreed. 

“Even you, Mr. Boy Scout?” 

_On my honor, I will try…_

Stan’s smile slid off his face - in the back of his mind he wondered how he looked right then, Eddie hovered over him in concern as Stan couldn’t do anything except try to breathe. 

“I’m okay,” he managed to get out after a few moments. “I’ll be okay. I just -” 

“We’re all going to have to deal with this, you know,” Eddie said. “It’s okay even if you’re still not okay. God knows I’m not.” He tilted his chin in the direction of the inn. “The rest of them are pretty fucked up as well.” 

“Yeah, well,” Stan retorted, irritable and not quite knowing why, “I’m sure none of their first thoughts were ‘I know what I’ll do, I’ll just kill myself.’” 

Eddie took a moment before replying. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean anything more, or anything less.” 

Stan shook his head and said, “You’re not very good at this wisdom shit, just so you know.” 

“I never fucking claimed to be, dick hole,” Eddie snapped back. “I’m nice for one goddamn second and this is what it gets me; Jesus Christ, forget I even said anything.” 

And it was normal. It was so blisteringly normal that Stan didn’t even bother trying to cover up his bubbling laughter, the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, the shaking of his limbs as Eddie pulled him in close. 

“For what it’s worth,” Eddie whispered into Stan’s ear, “I’m glad you’re here with us.” 

“I am too.” He paused. “Even if that means I’ll have to deal with y’all’s antics for the rest of my natural life.” 

Eddie seemed on the verge of responding when Stan heard his teeth click. Stan waited, then, for whatever Eddie was hesitating on. 

“Did you just say ‘y’all’?” 

“Is that seriously what you wanted to ask me?” 

“I just -” Eddie started, laughing as he pulled away from the hug he and Stan were still tangled in, “- I guess you really took the ‘I live in Atlanta now’ thing seriously, that’s all.” 

“You’re a terrible friend,” Stan said. “I just want you to know that, okay?” 

“Okay,” Eddie agreed easily. 

“And I really regret saving your life right now.” 

“Okay, that’s a fucking lie, Stan.” 

“Maybe so,” Stan said, “but it’s the sentiment that matters, right?” 

Eddie blinked. “I guess.” 

There was a gentle gust of wind and Stan shivered again. 

“Should we head inside?” 

“Have you always jumped from one subject to another like this?” Eddie demanded. “Because I sure as hell don’t remember you having ADD too.” 

“It’s been over twenty years and you presume to know me?” Stan asked archly. “Eddie, for shame.” 

“Shut up - we’re going inside and having a drink.” 

Stan nodded and gestured for Eddie to go in ahead of him. After Eddie headed in, however, Stan took a moment to give another look around before following. 

“Thought you got lost or something,” Eddie said as the door closed behind him. “A search party at this time of night would be hell, you know.” 

“I think between all of you, you’d be able to figure out who snatched me.” 

“We’d have to give Mike space for a conspiracy board.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Stan said, and it must have been in enough of a deadpan that Eddie turned to him, bewildered. “He’d need an entire room.” 

Eddie scoffed good-naturedly. “He would, you’re right. My mistake.” 

“As long as you acknowledge it,” Stan replied primly. 

They stepped into the lounge to be greeted with Richie and Bev’s shit-eating grins. 

“What’d we miss?” Eddie immediately demanded, taking a seat as close as possible to where Richie was standing behind the bar. Stan, who never had the urge to sit as close to Richie as he possibly could, flanked Bev’s other side. 

“Bev’s promised to make me an outfit for the Emmys.” 

“May God help us all,” Bev swore to Richie’s delighted face. 

Stan grimaced. “So how tasteless are you going for?” 

“Not tasteless.” Bev snorted as though what he said was something particularly out of line when dealing with the two of them. “Fashion-adjacent.” 

“I promise you that that’s not a thing,” Eddie said. 

“I promise you that it is. I mean, who knows, Spaghetti Man? Maybe there’ll be thousands of people who want to dress exactly like Richie Tozier.” 

“Richie Tozier as a fashion icon at forty - seems likely.” 

Bev made a small, offended noise at Stan’s jibe and he shrugged, insouciant, in return. “It’s not about the age, Bev, it’s about the person.” 

“Says the man who still wears suspenders and bowties like he did when he was eleven. I mean, hello, the nineties called? They want their Seinfeld prequel back.” 

Stan let Richie’s words settle for a moment. “Am I supposed to be Seinfeld?” 

“It doesn’t _matter_, Stanley, what matters is -”

“Boys,” Bev interrupted, throwing down four shot glasses and gesturing for Richie to pour them all something, “can you trouble yourselves to have a shot with me, or should I hold off until you’ve finished?” 

“They’ll never stop,” Eddie said, grabbing one of the glasses. 

“Like you’re one to talk,” Bev shot back, handing the last glass to Stan.

He didn’t pick it up, debating the headache in the morning. 

“Fuck it.” 

They held their glasses up and toasted. 

“To us mice,” Richie said. 

“To us mice,” Stan echoed, Bev and Eddie following close. 

The whiskey burned as it slid down Stan’s throat. 

“Where’s Ben?” he asked once his throat felt less stripped. 

“Making last-minute arrangements for the cabin,” Bev responded. 

Stan shook his head. “Is that what it’s like to be rich? Last-minute arrangements at eleven-thirty on a weeknight?” 

“Pretty much,” Richie said. “There are five cleaning services in L.A. that boast 24-hour on-call service.” 

“Why would you know that?” Eddie asked, and Stan groaned - Richie’s bait was obvious, but Eddie never let him down with the lead-up to the punchline. 

“You get three guesses, Edward dearest, and the first two don’t count.” 

“You killed a hooker.” 

Richie turned to face Stan, clutching a hand to his heart. “Her name was Gertrude and she most definitely, obviously had a stroke. The coroner said so and everything.” He paused and shot a wink at him. “Also, I was the hooker. She really tried to Richard Gere me. Left me everything in the will, you know.” 

“Thus, the cleaning service,” Bev said, nodding sagely before sharing an indecipherable look with Eddie. 

“He wouldn’t want the police to suspect him - wiped the house of his presence that night.” Stan looked over at Richie, more invested in this farce than he really ought to have been. “It was a smart plan, Richard.” 

“Thank you, Stanley.”

Bev poured them all another shot and this time Stan didn’t hesitate.

* * *

“Stan the Man Uris, what keeps you up?” 

“Richie Rich Tozier, what keeps you down here?” 

Stan and Richie stared at one another over the kitchen island. 

“It seems we are at an impasse,” Richie began - Stan had to admit that his British accent had improved since school. “You do not want to tell me what’s happening, and I do not particularly want to take ‘I’m fine’ at its face.” 

“Well, one of us has to die,” Stan finished for him. 

“That’s morbid,” Richie said. “You fucking nerd.

“But seriously, Stan, I feel like I’m missing out on something that everyone else knows - I don’t like that feeling and you know that I don’t like it. So what’s the scoop, how’s the headline, and what messenger do I have to shoot?” 

“No scoop worth noting, headline is ‘Still Here,’ and the messenger is already dead.” 

He sighed. It was harder, somehow, with Richie than with the others - Stan pinned it on the fact that for a long time before the Losers Club, they were mostly just Stan and Richie, tackling elementary school like the little terrors they always pretended they never were. 

“I almost didn’t come back.” 

“Yeah, me too. But I’m glad you did. Fighting a demonic alien spider wouldn’t have been the same without my best bird buddy, ya hear?” 

“I almost gave all of this aftermath up. And for what? For fear?

“Well, fuck fear!” 

“And fuck clowns,” Richie enthused. 

“And fuck aliens,” Stan continued. 

“And fuck Derry!” 

“And every fucking thing else!”

The air punched itself out of his gut in a rush. “When I say ‘I almost didn’t come back’ what I really meant to say was, ‘I almost wasn’t here at all.’” 

Richie hopped onto the island’s counter and threw an arm around Stan’s shoulders. After a few moments, Stan rested his head on Richie’s shoulder. 

“I’m proud of you, Staniel.” 

“I didn’t quite forget, but I couldn’t stand to fully remember. I’m a coward.” 

“Nah,” Richie said, “you’re nothing of the sort, my good sir.” He knocked his temple against the top of Stan’s head. “Sometimes, you know, I think that you’re secretly the bravest out of all of us.” 

Stan scoffed and said, “You don’t have to lie to me, Richie. I can take it - I’m a fully-grown man.” 

“I’m not lying,” Richie said, before taking a hold of Stan’s chin with his thumb and forefinger to force him to look fully at Richie. “As a kid, you didn’t quite believe - thought it was ‘empirically impossible’ or whatever - and then, when it came down to it and we all went through that standpipe and down into the sewer, you went through a helluva lot more shit than any of us did. 

“But despite it all, you came back.” 

Richie paused and patted Stan’s cheek once, twice, three times. “You came back, buddy. And that makes you really fucking brave.” 

“How are you better at this than everyone else?” Stan asked, a little thrown by Richie’s staid demeanor. 

“I’m a comic - I have some experience with shit like this,” Richie replied. He pulled away again, then, but Stan kept a light hold on Richie’s shoulder. 

“Thanks, Richie.” 

“No problemo, amigo.

“By the way, have you called your wife yet?” 

“Yes,” Stan said slowly, somehow already knowing how this was going to go. 

“Dammit.” 

“She wouldn’t be interested in a threesome, Richie, no matter how hard you try.” 

“Well, she just hasn’t met me yet. Who know what it’ll be like when she does.” 

“What about Eddie?” 

Richie blanched; Stan was duly impressed as to the speed of Richie’s facial changes. 

“What _about_ Eddie?” Richie parroted. 

“Don’t be purposefully obtuse, Richard. When are you going to tell -”

“I did.” 

Stan blinked. “You _what_?”__

“I told him.” 

“What did he say?” 

Richie smiled, then, but it was a little bitter. 

“He said that he felt the same. All that time and he felt the same.” 

There was a pause. 

“So, what’re the two of you going to do now?” 

Richie shrugged. “I don’t even fucking know. He’s headed back to New York after the reunion - he has shit he needs to deal with - and I’m headed back to L.A. because I somehow still have a job.” 

“It was probably the twitter thing,” Stan said. 

“Most likely,” Richie agreed. 

“But as for Eddie and I - we’ll go from there, you know? We have the rest of the week, and that’s a start.” 

“Would you wait for him?” 

“Would you have waited for Patty?” 

Stan tilted his head. “Touché.

“And you know what?” he continued. “If it doesn’t work out between the two of you, I’ll convince Pattyus to let us have that threesome.” 

“Well, now I just want to lie and say that it didn’t work out - just so I can get some of that Stanley Uris charisma all over me.” 

“I honestly don’t know how people never caught onto your bisexuality on their own.” 

“I know,” Richie said. “It’s all right there, just hanging out for the world to see.” 

“Nice imagery, jackass. Now I’ve thought about -” he looked Richie up and down, grimacing a little, “ -all of you just ‘hanging out.’” 

“Wow, Stanley, wow. You just want to injure my already fragile ego further, don’t you?” 

“I really, really do,” Stan said in reply. 

“Hey, you want another drink?” 

“Nah,” Richie said. “I drink anything more and I’ll be irascible in the morning.” 

“You’ll be what?” Stan asked. 

“Irascible,” Richie reiterated, “it means -”

“I know what it means,” Stan said. “I’m just surprised that you do.” 

Richie paused. “I love you - asshole.” 

“I love you too - dumbass.”

* * *

**Stanley Uris** stanleyuris@gmail.com  
to  
Nancy Ellis  
**Continuing Sessions**

Dr. Ellis,

I would like to increase my therapy sessions to once a week, if you have the time available. 

Thank you for reading this, and I will see you for our regularly scheduled session next week. 

Sincerely,  
Stanley Uris


	5. Bev

**Vogue Magazine ✔ @voguemagazine** Tom Rogan, CEO of _@marshfashionsofficial_ was fired from Marsh Fashions earlier today. 

**Marsh Fashions ✔ @marshfashionsofficial** Brand integrity is important to us, and so we’d like to welcome _@trisharobbins_ as Marsh Fashions' new CEO.

* * *

“What’re you doing out here? Looking all sad and lonely and shit.” 

“Looks can be deceiving,” Bev replied, smiling up at Richie and patting the space on the stairs next to her. “Take a load off - we can be together, then.

“You wanna smoke?” 

“Nah,” Richie declined, “Eds and I chain-smoked about half a pack out front.

“So, what’s your plan?” he asked as Bev lit up her own smoke. 

“The board fired Tom, so I expect a lawsuit. Divorce. Other than that? I think I might take a sabbatical - I know someone with a yacht and they invited me on it.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Richie said. “What a coinkydink. I, too, was invited on a yacht by someone I know.” 

“You were not, oh my God.” Bev laughed, bumping her shoulder against Richie’s. 

“You don’t know my relationship with Ben - he might have been one of my flings from when grindr first started up.” 

Bev didn’t say anything, choosing instead to take a drag off of her cigarette as she stared at him. 

“Okay, okay, it wasn’t grindr. It was L.A., ‘06, and we met up in a bar without knowing who the other person was.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“We made out before he passed out on my couch after telling me he wasn’t actually all that into dudes.” 

Bev raised an eyebrow as Richie trailed off, staring into the middle distance as his eyes narrowed in thought. And while Bev didn’t have a particularly bad feeling about what was happening in Richie’s mind, she knew by his expression that her uneasiness was probably warranted. 

“Holy shit, I think that guy _was_ Ben.” Richie grinned. “I totally made out with Haystack Hanscom in my old, shitty apartment. Oh my God, I’m going to make fun of him forever, what the fuck is my life.” 

“You’re being serious,” Bev said. 

“Deadly,” Richie answered. 

She stared at him for a long moment - Richie staring back at her with his usual wide-eyed expression - before an altogether involuntary snort came out of her mouth. Richie joined in her ugly laughter without hesitation and they leaned against one another as they gasped for breath. 

The back door opened and Bev turned her head, only to burst into laughter once more. 

“What are you guys laughing about?” 

“Oh, Ben, oh my God,” she started, already imagining the look on his face when he heard Richie’s story, “we were laughing about you.” 

“What about me?” Ben asked, suspicious. He turned to Richie, whose grin was absolutely shark-like, and Bev tried to calm herself down so she wouldn’t miss anything. 

“About our one night love-affair back in ‘06.” 

Ben blinked. 

“That wasn’t -” he stopped himself. Bev was a little dumbstruck as Ben stammered uselessly for a moment. “That was _you_?”

“You wanna kiss again, get all that memory back?” 

Ben’s face turned bright red as Richie lurched up from his sitting position. 

“I’m fine, thanks, Richie,” he said before Richie could get in close. Bev snorted again and stood up as well; her knee popped as she stood straight and she winced a little. Getting old was a bitch and a half, and with the last few days she had had, her body was feeling every one of its four decades. 

“I should finish settling arrangements for us all, anyways,” he continued. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you should,” Richie replied. “That’s fine, man, you have a thing for redheads, I get it, but more of the womanly variety.” 

Before Ben could retreat back into the inn in embarrassment, however, Bev planted herself in front of him. Ignoring their audience, she leaned up and pressed a quick kiss on Ben’s lips - despite it being nothing more than a soft brush, it was still a little electric. 

“Any other Losers you’ve kissed?” she asked after pulling away. 

“Yeah, but I’ve always made it a point to save the best for last.” Ben responded. 

Bev didn’t quite know what to say to that - torn between asking Ben if he was joking, figuring out who else he might have kissed, elation at knowing that she was the ‘best’ in his mind - but decided to take it as the compliment it obviously was. 

She smiled. 

“Me too.” 

“This is cute, I _swear_ it really is, but could the two of you please remove yourselves from the general door area? I wanna head inside for more booze before Eddie goes apeshit and smashes whatever he doesn’t drink.” 

“I’ll join you,” Bev said, pulling away from Ben with one last kiss. 

“I would as well -” Ben started, “- but I really _do_ need to finish making arrangements for all of us. I don’t want it to be musty or anything when we get there tomorrow.” 

“Don’t want to give anyone a conniption,” Richie agreed, nodding sagely. 

“You can just say ‘Eddie,’” Bev said. 

“I already mentioned him once in the last minute - I figured I shouldn’t be too obvious about it,” Richie replied. 

“Understandable,” Ben said. “Though you’d be fairly obvious, regardless.” 

“Ben Hanscom with the critical blow, and woe is Richie Tozier, who is out of lives and down to his dregs of HP.” 

“I’ll be back,” Ben reiterated as he motioned for the both Bev and Richie to enter the inn before him. 

He shot a wink at Bev, then, before exiting the kitchen to head upstairs. 

“Bar?” Bev asked Richie, who nodded and gestured for her to lead the way. 

“After you, mon ami.” 

“Thank you kindly,” Bev said. 

They planted themselves at the bar, Richie situated behind it, winning over Bev only after explaining that he had been a bartender ‘throughout most of my twenties, honestly, and I think I’ve made more cosmos than _Sex in the City_ could’ve even dreamed of.’ 

“Do you think it’s too soon?” she asked, before she even knew she had anything to say. 

“I mean -” Richie started, pouring them both shots, “- I’m completely biased, so grain of salt, yadda, yadda, yadda - but no, I don’t think it’s too soon.” 

“Whatever feels right, right?” 

“You really are putting me in the role of bartender tonight, aren’t you Miss Marsh?” 

Bev grinned. “I’ll have another - make it a double. And make it snappy!”

* * *

The lounge itself was quiet, but Bev could hear the bustle of footsteps upstairs as she stared down at her tablet and tried to concentrate on the legal jargon she never made a point to even pretend to understand. 

“You not headed up yet?” 

She craned her neck back and smiled up at Eddie - he was in pajamas, holding a glass of water, and still damp at the temples. 

“I wanted to take a look over this, but I honestly think it’s a lost cause for tonight.” 

“The drinking probably didn’t help,” Eddie said. 

“Most likely not, no.

“Care to join me?” She patted the cushion next to her on the couch and Eddie didn’t hesitate in taking the spot. 

“Bad marriages, am I right?” Bev asked into the silence. 

“I’ll toast to that,” Eddie replied, saluting her with his water glass. 

Bev licked her lips. “What was yours like?” 

Eddie raised his eyebrows - Bev continued to stare down at her tablet, tapping the rim nervously with her fingers. 

“I married my mother, so…” He shrugged. “For a long time it was all I knew, and I forgot that my life could be anything else.” 

Bev had started to nod, involuntarily, before Eddie was even halfway through with his statement. “I married my father.” 

Eddie nodded, wrapped his arm around her, and said, “Yeah.” 

After a few minutes, however, Eddie swore. Bev, who had been lulled into the quiet embrace of someone she cared about, startled at the shift in volume. 

“What?” 

“I need to get a divorce lawyer.” 

“You can do it in the morning, honey. It’s late, and from my own fruitless attempt at research, anything you do tonight won’t be particularly helpful come the morning.” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Eddie agreed, but Bev could tell that his heart wasn’t quite in his words and that his mind was in seven different places at once. It was a familiar mental exertion that Bev hated she understood all too well - even now her brain was still buzzing with things she had to do, how to get them done faster, and what her life would be like at the end of it all. 

“You guess?” she asked instead, craning her neck to look at him. “And here I thought that I was always right when it’s between you and me.” 

“It’s debatable,” Eddie said. “Though you were right about a lot of things, I’ll admit now.” 

“Older and wiser?” 

“Well, older, that’s for sure.” He paused. “I don’t think ‘wiser’ will ever be on the list, though.” 

“We did all come back to Maine to fuck our lives up even more than they were already.” 

Eddie nodded. “A bunch of dumb-asses.” 

“But we did it,” Bev said, and _that_ was the truly wonderful thing in her eyes. “We did it and we all survived. 

“Which is nothing like -” She paused. “It’s nothing like what I was expecting, that’s for damn sure.” 

“I’m glad we were able to exceed your expectations,” Eddie said. “Because I would have preferred less scarring, you know what I mean?” 

“Better more scarring and less death,” Bev replied. “And I think everyone will damn well agree with me.” 

“I’m not disagreeing with you, I’m just saying that I could have been better off without these fucking cheek stitches, that’s all.” 

“I think you’ll look very rugged when it scars up, Eddie.” She grinned. “And I think Richie would agree.” 

“Richie told me earlier that he wanted to kiss me when we were walking out of that damn standpipe, covered in greywater and alien guts - I don’t really trust the man’s judgment.” 

“Even when it’s about you?” Bev asked. 

“Especially then.” 

“You’re going to have a fun life.” 

Eddie snorted. “Like you’re one to talk. I heard you’re going to go yachting around the world with Haystack.” 

“Where’d you hear that?” Bev asked, before shaking her head and answering ‘Richie’ before Eddie could even open his mouth to reply. 

“But, yes,” she continued. “I really think I might.” 

“Good. You deserve happiness.” 

“We all do,” Bev said. “And I think we can all get that now.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie asked.

“For sure.” 

“No doubt.” 

“Totally.”

* * *

“ -and looking back, I'm actually glad that I accidentally joined that a capella group.” 

The table was dead silent - if Bev had wanted to, she could take one of the pins out of her bag, drop it on the table, and everyone would be able to hear it - as everyone stared at Stan, who had finished his story with a decisive nod. 

“And on that note,” Richie said, standing up only after dislodging Eddie from his side, “I’m going to head up and try to get a couple hours of sleep before Big Bill and Mikey get back.” 

Richie’s statement seemed to rouse Eddie and Ben from their half-stupor, and they made vague noises of agreement. Stan looked down as they did, tracing the rim of his teacup as the other two men stood up alongside Richie. Ben turned to look at Bev, who tilted her chin at Stan, before gesturing towards her half-finished tea. 

“I’m going to stay and finish this,” she said. “You as well, Stan?” 

“Yeah,” he said, flashing a small smile at Bev. 

“Hasta mañana, mis amigos,” Richie said, leaning down to plant loud kisses on Bev and Stan’s cheeks. “Let’s hope that none of us dream, yeah?” 

“That’ll be the day,” Bev replied. 

Eddie, Richie, and Ben made their way to the stairs - Eddie and Richie headed up, bickering about something that Bev could no longer hear, but Ben lingered until Bev winked at him. He grinned, then, and headed up as well. 

Stan waited until he heard the doors close upstairs before speaking. “You didn’t have to stay up with me.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Bev said, sniffing a little as she took a long sip of her tea. It was approaching room temperature, but Bev kept her face placid as she drank it. “I wanted to finish this, Stanley.” 

“Okay, Beverly.” 

She licked her lips, watching as Stan swirled around the tea in his cup. “You going to sleep tonight, honey?” 

“Probably not,” Stan said. “It’s weird sleeping alone, and with everything that happened in the last week…” 

He trailed off and shrugged. “It’ll be better when we’re out of Derry and Patty’s with us.” 

Bev hummed. “What’s she like?” 

“Patty?” Stan asked unnecessarily; Bev nodded despite the fact that he was already starting to answer her question. “She’s amazing. She’s sweet, but she’s also a spitfire when riled up. Vicious in that really traditional Southern belle way - we put up with each other’s shit.” He paused. “I love that woman, and somehow she’s found it fit to love me back.” 

“That’s amazing,” Bev said after it seemed as though Stan wasn’t going to continue any further. 

“I didn’t want her to ever have to deal with this.” 

Bev clicked her tongue. “But she did.” 

“And she took it like a fucking champ - I knew she would, but… 

“It’s not really something that’s easy to come out and say - especially if all you remember are bits and pieces.” 

Stan scoffed, shaking his head, and picked up his cup to take a sip of tea. He made a face, and Bev figured that it was just as cold as her own - he had less of a poker face than she did, but he took a full gulp when he caught her smile. 

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Bev said, waiting for Stan to finish choking down his tea.

She ran the dregs of her tea down the sink and washed both of their cups quickly when Stan wandered over to the kitchen sink. 

“You ready to head up?” she asked. “I know you won’t sleep, but maybe you can rest.” 

“Yeah,” Stan agreed, leaning down to kiss the top of Bev’s head. “Thanks, Bev.” 

“Anytime, Stan,” Bev replied - she found herself a little surprised by how serious she took her own words, but figured that she should have expected nothing less, considering how fiercely protective they all were of one another. “Anytime.” 

She gestured for Stan to take the lead heading up the stairs. 

“Thank you for coming back,” she said as she dropped him off at his door. 

Stan smiled a little - they both knew what she was really saying. 

“Anytime.”

* * *

  
**Beverly**  
Hypothetically, could you keep everything running smoothly for a couple of months if I took a sabbatical? 

**Trisha**  
Hypothetically OR literally, yes I could. 

**Trisha**  
That’s what you made me CEO for, right? 

**Beverly**  
I just know it’s a lot to ask of you on your second day. 

**Trisha**  
Do what you need to do. I know you haven’t taken a break in a decade Beverly. 

**Beverly**  
Thanks Trish, you’re a lifesaver. 


	6. Eddie

**(43) missed calls & (38) voicemails from Myra**

**(117) new texts from Myra**

**(1) new text from Richie**  


  
**Richie**  
Hey, you up? 

* * *

Eddie knocked a sharp rap on the door across the hallway from his, folded his arms across his chest, and put on his most potent stink-eye. 

“Of course I’m up, idiot - do you really think any of us are going to actually sleep tonight?” 

“Well,” Richie drawled out, leaning against the doorframe in a way that Eddie found distractingly disarming, “I didn’t want to presume anything, you know.” 

“You’ve always presumed everything, I don’t know what’s stopping you now,” Eddie retorted, his eyes narrowing as Richie threw him a smirk. 

“Maybe, for once in our lives, I wanted you to come to me.” 

Eddie blinked once, twice, three times, before sneering at Richie, trying to keep his composure despite everything in him telling him that he should just do what he really wanted to and invite himself into Richie’s room. 

“And you got your wish,” he said, trying to go for ironic - by Richie’s shit-eating grin, Eddie didn’t quite manage his statement the way that he had intended. 

“I really, really did,” Richie replied, and it was imbued with a sincerity that made Eddie’s entire body flush. 

“Whatever,” he griped instead, clearing his throat. “I don’t care.

“You gonna let me in, or not?” 

“What’s the password?” 

“Fuck you,” Eddie spat out, wishing he could regret his decision to seek out Richie; Eddie couldn’t even lie to himself anymore, however, and the fondness swirling in his gut at the familiarity of their repartee made him a little weak in the knees.

“Only if you ask me nice,” Richie said, but obligingly moved out of the way for Eddie to enter the room. 

In lieu of a verbal reply, Eddie gave him the bird - Richie lunged at him like he was going to bite Eddie’s finger, and not even Eddie’s ‘Richie, what the _hell_?’ seemed to stop him from grabbing his wrist. To be fair, Eddie hadn’t been trying all that hard in their stupid game of keep-away. 

Richie kicked the door shut behind them. 

“You texted me,” Eddie said, letting his body fall into Richie’s side - the motion was familiar in a painfully nostalgic way, a secret that was now in the open, the warmth he had never forgotten but had never quite remembered. “I didn’t want to be alone. Thought you might not want to be, either.” 

“You still know me well, Eddie,” Richie said, and it was almost a whisper, his voice quiet even in the still air around them. Eddie swallowed down the sudden tightness in his throat. 

“Yeah, ditto.” 

“Did you really just ‘ditto’ me?” Richie asked, pulling away from Eddie to stare down at him in bewilderment. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t ‘I know’ you.” 

“That would have been amazing,” Richie disagreed, grinning down at Eddie - Eddie, in turn, tugged the both of them down onto the bed and started to shove at Richie, hoping he would get the clue and move to how Eddie wanted him. Thankfully he got it only after a few seconds of blinking confusion at Eddie's tugging, flopping onto his back and pulling Eddie in close. 

“What're you doing, Eds?” he asked after a few seconds. 

“I won’t sleep,” Eddie explained impatiently, unable to fathom why he even had to say anything at all - it might have been a couple of decades, but Eddie knew that Richie still knew him better than that. “That doesn’t mean I can’t be comfortable, right?” 

“And you always were with me,” Richie sing-songed, throwing his arm around Eddie’s waist to pull him in close. 

“Shut up - don’t state the obvious,” Eddie snapped, throwing his own arm around Richie as Richie pinned Eddie’s leg between his own. 

“You know,” Eddie said after they power-struggled a comfortable position, “before I got married I had been thinking about expanding out and into California.” 

“Yeah?” Richie asked, voice muffled by Eddie’s hair. He grinned a little bit against Richie’s neck. 

“More clientele.” 

“Good business,” Richie agreed. “Big stars.” 

“Exactly.” 

“So...” Richie started after a few moments, his words a long drawl as he seemed to debate what he wanted to say. 

“Well, I’m working on the marriage part, which’ll be a helluva lot harder than opening a new branch, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Richie said, but his voice cracked on the word and Eddie didn’t know if he understood at all. 

“It might take a few months, but…” Eddie shrugged as though his words didn’t mean much either way - he wondered if Richie heard his sharp exhale as Eddie let Richie finish his statement with whatever he wanted to fill in the blanks. 

“If you wanted a home base in L.A., you’d need a place to stay,” Richie said after a few long seconds - almost too long for Eddie, who was more nerves than man at this point. “I mean, getting a good place there is shit, definitely not up to any of the standards I know you have.” 

“Of course,” Eddie agreed, hiding his relieved laughter as best as he could. 

“And, I mean, I actually have a nice-ass condo, you know? If you were interested in that.” 

“I’m not as particular as all of that,” Eddie replied, “in the sense that I don’t actually give a fuck as to where I live as long as it’s with you.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Richie asked incredulously, and Eddie didn’t bother hiding his laughter this time, peering up at Richie's complicated expression - his concentration made him look vaguely constipated. “What? You some kinda sap or something? What’s up with this shit, Eds?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie retorted. “Like I even started it.

"And don't -"

“I’m not having this argument with you, not if we’re going to start off living together on the right foot,” Richie said, giving into his own laughter - it was a nice sound, and Eddie didn’t know that it was the thing he had been missing for years. “You’re an asshole.” 

“Dick,” Eddie said. 

“Punk-ass.” 

“Motherfucker.” 

“Only until I moved outta Derry - lost touch with her after that.” 

Eddie slapped the back of Richie’s head. “Dumb fuck.” 

“Yup,” Richie agreed and, after what looked like a quick debate in his mind, nodded firmly to himself. “But you love me.” 

“I know,” Eddie said. 

“You know that the quote doesn’t quite work when you say it like -”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie, I wasn’t trying to quote anything, let alone _Star Wars_ \- oh my God, is this what the rest of my life’s going to be like?” 

“You know it, babe.” 

“Don’t call me ‘babe’,” Eddie snapped back instinctively, before shutting his eyes. Because now that he said that… 

“But, babe, you know you like it,” Richie whined - he was right, of course, and he knew he was right, but Eddie was in no way going to say anything to him about it. 

“Whatever,” he said instead, and knew that it wasn’t much better than his outright admission would have been. 

Somehow, and against all odds, there was silence between the two of them for a few moments. And then Richie shifted a little, clearing his throat as he poked Eddie’s side for him to look up at him. 

“What?” Eddie asked irritably, marveling at the fact that if Richie had let the silence continue, he might have actually gotten a few hours of rest. 

“So when _we_ get married,” Richie started, and Eddie groaned before he could continue with whatever idiotic thing had come into his mind. “No, I’m being serious here Eddie - did you want to walk down the aisle? You didn’t get a chance to the first time, didn’t get to experience the drama of it all.” 

“Why?” Eddie asked rhetorically, resolutely closing his eyes against Richie’s stupid grin. “Rich, why?” 

“Because I’m happy,” Richie said. 

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie agreed after a beat, two, three. “Me too.” He paused, grinning into Richie's neck before pressing a light, hesitant kiss to Richie's collarbone; he felt Richie shiver. “But who’s the sap now, huh?” 

“Whatever,” Richie muttered, flicking the top of Eddie’s head before smoothing his hand down the back of his neck - Eddie’s breath stuttered in his chest. “Go to sleep.” 

But there was something Eddie knew he had to do first. 

He flicked Richie's jaw and when he tilted his head down, mouth already half open on some stupid shit, Eddie leaned up and kissed him; it wasn't a great kiss by any stretch of the imagination - Richie was frozen to the spot and Eddie hadn't quite managed to get the angle perfect and they were two forty-year-olds who had been in love with each other since either of them really understood what that sort of life-long commitment actually meant - but it still made Eddie breathless in a way that, were he younger, would have him reaching for his inhaler in fear of an asthma attack. 

As it stood, however, Richie got himself together fairly quickly, angled his face down a bit further and kissed Eddie back, making every thought other than 'oh fuck, I'm actually finally fucking kissing RIchie Tozier' disappear entirely from his mind. 

Eddie blew out a little puff of air through his nose as Richie's hand cupped his jaw, his thumb stroking just beneath his quickly scarring wound. Richie made a little noise in the back of his throat and it reverberated into Eddie's chest, their bodies pressed together like they were afraid something might try to tear them apart - which, if their pasts were any indication, was a fear that Eddie could see actually happening to them. 

They pulled away from one another for a moment, before Richie rushed back in, knocking their noses together in his exuberance - he gentled himself immediately but Eddie fisted his hand in Richie's hair, tugging on it to urge Richie into a deeper kiss. 

"Did you want to sleep?" Richie asked against his lips. 

"Fuck you, dude." Eddie laughed. 

"Did you want to take off our shirts and kiss instead?" 

"I hate you so much," Eddie said, rucking his fingers up Richie's shirt - Richie gasped in a breath and for a moment Eddie really thought that he had shut him up. 

"But that's obviously a yes." 

"If you stay quiet." 

Richie looked up at him for a moment before laughing and Eddie joined him as he realized the absurdity of his request; Richie licked his lips - Eddie didn't even pretend not to stare as he did so - and said, "How about you make me be quiet?" 

And Eddie was always one for a challenge.

* * *

Eddie walked out of the inn, blinking in the bright sunlight - the din of noise was swallowed in on itself as the door closed behind him. 

“Thought you’d be inside to see everyone,” he said, leaning his hip against the railing as he shot Bill what he hoped was an unimpressed look. Bill smiled at him in response, and Eddie knew that, really, nothing had changed since they were kids. 

“I wanted to give Mike a moment with everyone,” Bill replied. “It’s different than in a hospital room.” 

“Sure,” Eddie agreed easily, narrowing his eyes as Bill shuffled his feet a little bit, refusing to look at Eddie fully in the eye. 

“So what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Bill said immediately. “Do you remember when we spent three weeks trying to build a treehouse?” 

“If only Ben were in Derry during that,” Eddie replied. “It might have actually worked, then.” 

“But it was nice. Just the two of us, I mean. When everything was…” 

“Idyllic?” Eddie suggested dryly, understanding where Bill was coming from, but knowing that their childhoods - at least before Georgie’s death - were quite different from one another’s.

“Child-like. Before Derry became a prison.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “But it was before a lot of good things, too, even if we didn’t remember them.” He shrugged. “I think everyone has some nostalgia for their childhood, even if it wasn’t all that great in hindsight.” 

“Saying I wasn’t a good friend, or what?” 

“I’m saying that even before It, a Derry childhood wasn’t exactly a thing of wonder.” 

“That’s true enough,” Bill agreed, and though he threw a smile in Eddie’s direction, it wasn’t imbued with its usual sincerity. 

“Bill…” Eddie began, not quite knowing if he would be able to get through to Bill in the same way he was able to when they were kids, or if the years - the distance and their very separate lives - would have gotten in the way of a friendship that he had once considered more of a brotherhood than anything the word ‘friend’ could encompass. “Come on, man.” 

“I just -” Bill started, mouthing out a couple of words, before falling silent as he shrugged in lieu of whatever he had been trying to say. “I don’t know how to explain it.” 

Eddie raised his eyebrow. “Aren’t you a novelist? I feel as though explaining yourself should be right there in your wheelhouse.” 

“You know,” Bill said after a moment, “Audra says pretty much the same thing to me whenever she thinks I’m being passive-aggressive.” 

“Are you usually being passive-aggressive when she says it?” Eddie asked, unable to help himself. He stopped Bill before he could answer, however, and added, “And please don’t compare me to your wife, it’s weird.” 

“Most of the time, yeah,” Bill replied. “But if it helps, she usually starts it.” 

He stopped, then, in obvious anticipation for Eddie’s reply. Eddie, in turn, ‘tsk’d, crossed his arms, and waited until Bill would be unable to handle the silence any longer - if he remembered correctly, it shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes. Surprisingly, or maybe not considering the progress of years, it took only about forty-five seconds for Bill to let out a disgruntled sigh. 

“Okay, fine. I just -

“I still feel like something’s missing. I got the resolution, sure, but I feel like I haven’t quite yet hit the denouement.” 

Eddie closed his eyes for a minute, the words ‘pretentious motherfucker’ on the tip of his tongue before he bit them back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he finally settled on saying. 

“I mean that everything is over, but I still feel like it’s not. I feel like there’s more to come that I missed.” 

A chill went through Eddie, and Bill must have seen the trepidation on his face, because he was quick to wave away whatever question Eddie might have been able to come up with given a few more moments to let his adrenaline settle. 

“Nothing bad. Just - personal, I guess. I feel like I haven’t gotten my personal resolution like I had expected to.” 

“What did you expect?” Eddie asked, knowing that what he was about to say might be harsh, but also knowing that Bill needed to hear it. The group loved Bill, sometimes to the point of letting things go with him that they maybe shouldn’t have, but they were older now - ostensibly wiser - and Eddie wouldn’t let that continue to go on. 

“Bill, what we did was great, but it also doesn’t take everything away. We didn’t kill It to have everything else suddenly fall into place.” He paused. “It would be nice, but it’s also not realistic. 

“You have to deal with your shit the same as everyone else here.” 

“What if it’s not shit I want to deal with? I don’t…” Bill exhaled sharply. “I don’t want to be alone in this.” 

“You have Audra,” Eddie disagreed. “And the six of us, obviously. We might not know exactly what you went through, but we’re here to help you through whatever you need.

“Now, come on, man,” he continued, “are we done being maudlin, or do you need a hug?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to a hug,” Bill said, and before Eddie could do more than blink, he was practically slammed against Bill’s chest. 

“Okay, ow,” he mumbled, moving his face so it wasn’t awkwardly pressed against Bill’s shirt. “Jesus, Bill, we almost all got murdered but you want me to die from _this_?” 

“See, that’s the thing,” Bill replied. “None of us have to die at all.” 

“I mean, someday.” 

“Okay, yeah, sure, someday we will. But we don’t have this hanging over us anymore. It’s like - there was always this dread, you know? Every day I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it finally did, and we all got through to the end of it.” 

And Eddie knew exactly what Bill was talking about. 

“Okay, writer,” he said instead, pulling away from Bill with minimal resistance. “Verbose, much? I almost miss the stutter - you’re almost as bad as Richie now.” 

“How could you say that?” Bill grimaced as though the thought was anathema to him. “That’s a low-blow, Eddie.” 

He paused. 

“And don’t compare me to Richie, it’s weird.” 

“How?” Eddie asked, already knowing the answer but somehow unable to stop himself from asking the question. 

“How do you think? You didn’t want me comparing you to -”

“Okay, good talk, Bill - let’s go inside, yeah? Get all our shit together and get the hell out of dodge.” 

Bill grinned. “Sounds good to me.”

* * *

  
**Eddie**  
Could you get together paperwork for an out-of-state (CA) expansion? 

**Eddie**  
Also, projections for the next fiscal year if we get the ball rolling within the next month? 

**John**  
No problem. Finally going to break up the CA monopoly? 

**Eddie**  
Yeah - how do you feel about a promotion? 

**John**  
I don’t like California. 

**Eddie**  
Other way around. 

**John**  
Your wife is okay with this? 

**Eddie**  
No longer an issue. 

**John**  
I’ll have those projections by end of workday. 


	7. Mike

  
Michael Hanlon  
Head Librarian  
Derry Public Library  


To Terry Brooker,

I would like to tender my resignation as head librarian of the Derry Public Library. This is effective upon receipt of delivery; I understand that two-weeks notice is usually preferred, however, due to extenuating circumstances that is impossible for me. 

Thank you for the opportunity to work with the public of Derry, Maine - regardless of the ups and downs, my service to the community was wholly necessary. 

Despite your wonderful guidance during my tenure at the institution, I hope we never cross paths again. 

Sincerely,  
Michael Hanlon

* * *

Despite Bill’s protests about stitches and light loads, Mike carried the last box out from the library himself - he trusted Bill to the ends of the earth, but the box in his hands contained everything good about their childhoods that he had managed to scavenge through the years, and that was something that Mike only felt comfortable keeping hold of himself until it was time to share it with the group as a whole. He placed the box in the backseat of Bill’s rented car; most of his things managed to fit comfortably in the trunk, and only half of the back seat of the vehicle had been taken up by his junk - Mike didn’t know if that spoke of his more minimalist nature, or if he just didn’t have anything particularly of note to keep after they all killed It, bringing his days as Atlas to an end once and for all. 

Bill opened the door to the passenger seat. 

“I’m not actually an invalid,” Mike said, but he nodded at Bill in thanks for the gesture all the same. 

He watched Bill as he jogged his way to the driver’s side door, opened it as well, and sat down heavily on the bench seat next to Mike. “I know you’re not an invalid.”

“You just still feel guilty,” Mike agreed easily, patting Bill’s right hand a couple of times before letting it go so he could put the car into drive. 

“No,” Bill said, his jaw twitching a little in what Mike could only presume to be in annoyance, “I just want to make sure that we all get out of here in the quickest time possible.” 

“So you don’t want my hinderance.” 

Bill grinned, then, and started to drive the car out of the library parking lot. “Exactly.” 

“I get it,” Mike said. And how strange it was - this rapport, these friendships that never seemed to have gone away, no matter what the others could remember or not - to be able to be with Bill in this way, a way that Mike hadn’t been able to experience since the last of their group had moved out of Derry, leaving Mike to hold the proverbial torch, to reconnoiter, until they all came back together once more. 

For the first time in a long time - certainly for the first time since coming into the realization that he needed to stay in Derry to keep the lighthouse running during storms - Mike’s life was his own. He could do anything he wanted, go anywhere he wanted, be anyone he wanted. 

“It’ll be nice to be able to catch up,” he said after a few blocks had passed them by. Derry seemed different now - just as oppressive on a personal level, but it had lightened up for the town as a whole - and Mike watched out of the window as the streets took on a brightness that he hadn’t seen for a long while. Because the people of Derry, no matter how much they forgot, still understood the danger that they had been in, and now that It was gone - vanquished by a group of adults who had decided to save the town that had broken their hearts in the first place - they understood that they, too, were free. 

“Yeah,” Bill agreed after a few moments. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike noticed that Bill was watching him through his own peripheral - Bill glanced away from him when Mike caught him in the act. 

“You okay?” 

Mike blinked, his lips twisting up a little as he contemplated Bill’s question. 

_Was_ he okay? It would be a difficult transition, sure, leaving Derry and having the world at his fingertips - everything he had dreamed of one day doing stretched out now before him in endless nights, eternal days, countless hours - but it was a transition that he felt wholly necessary to be able to move on with his life. Because for Mike, enjoyment had been on the backburner, and he felt it high time to grab life by the proverbial horns and let the ride take him wherever it may. He probably wouldn’t travel for as long as he had told himself, had told the others - he was firmly in the belief that forty years as a homebody would have him scurrying back to brick and mortar sooner rather than later - but all of that was still in the future, for he now had all the time in the world to think about that very thing. 

But, still, being away from Derry would be strange. 

He didn’t know if it was nostalgia, then, or a perverse sense of ecstasy, that made Mike continue to watch the streets of Derry fly by as Bill drove them deftly to the inn; it would be the last time, after all, that Mike would lay eyes on the streets that had harbored him - safely or not, they were still an integral part of him - through his life. 

“I’m actually - really good,” he finally said. Bill had, as always, given him the time to sort things out - Mike had known he would, because some things never changed despite decades and forgotten memories. “I’m just - I don’t know. Relieved. Nervous. So riddled with anxiety that I feel like Stan probably did after he took acid that one time.” 

Bill laughed at the memory - because Bill remembered it, and wasn’t that a far cry from the man who had asked who Mike was when he had called him up earlier in the week - before falling into a contemplative silence. 

“I think,” he started, pulling up to the inn but making no move to get out of the car. “I think that you have the biggest changes coming your way in the next few months. You’ve been here, stalwart and remembering it all, until we all came back. I think it’s a lot -” he paused there and faced Mike, who had leaned himself up against the door - not quite trying to get away from Bill, but unable to bear the sincerity spilling from his mouth. It was one thing knowing, but another thing actually hearing it. “It’s a lot and you did it, Mike - you’re the fucking best of us all. But it’s a lot. I mean, fuck, even _I’m_ anxious, and I could make a compelling argument that I had one of the better lives out of all of us in the last few decades.

“What I’m trying to say is - we’re here for you.” Bill started to move in, then, and Mike opened his arms for the inevitable hug. “I’m here for you.” 

“Well, thanks,” Mike said, holding Bill tightly. “And thanks for letting me keep my stuff at your place while I go off cavorting.” 

“Anytime,” Bill replied, laughing as they untangled themselves from the hug. Mike didn’t say anything about Bill wiping his eyes as they pulled away - it would have been hypocritical, considering that Mike had to do the very same. 

“Now go get hugged to death by everyone else,” Bill said. “I’ll meet you in there - I just need to make a call.” 

“Aye, aye, fearless leader.” 

And Mike opened the door.

* * *

“Okay, okay, okay,” Stan said, sitting Mike down at the kitchen table before starting to putter about, eyes roving the room as he finished tidying-up. “So, we have three cars, seven people, and luggage. It’ll be a tight fit, but not too bad for a few hours.” 

He held up a hand, then, before anyone could start to claim seats, and turned to Mike. “Mike, you get to choose first because you’re injured.” 

From somewhere behind Mike, Eddie muttered ‘I’m injured too, jackass,’ but Mike blithely ignored it in favor of watching Richie, Bill, and Bev fight for his company. 

“I’ll go with Bill - my stuff’s already in there, after all,” Mike said, and Bill cheered, throwing his arm around Mike and pulling him in close for a few seconds before moving off to gather up his phone and charger. 

“We’re all going to the same place, so what does it matter that you’re in the car with your shit?” Bev whined, an entirely exaggerated pout on her mouth until Ben wrapped an arm around her. 

“I’ll go with you, Beverly - I might die, because I remember how you drive, but…” 

“Shut up, I’ve gotten better.” 

“Eds, you’re with me, right?” 

“If you let me choose the music.” 

“When haven’t I?” 

“Great, guess I have the pick of the backseats - like usual. Thanks, guys. No, really, I mean it.” 

“Stan, come with us, I’ll force Ben into the backseat.” 

Their conversations spiraled into one another, then, sharp in Mike’s ears - it was both just the same as he remembered and something that he had never experienced before, something he never thought he would again - and he knew that he was grinning like mad, but he didn’t actually care one whit. Because everyone was alive, mostly whole, and they were all together. That was what mattered - that was what hadn’t been taken away, even when everything else seemed to have been - and because they were together, they had won. 

There was a bond between the seven of them and it had never been more apparent than at this moment: almost thirty years since their last encounter with It, lives forgotten in the wheel of repression, and only in Derry on a promise and a phone call. 

“Hey.” 

Stan sat down in the chair next to Mike and rolled his eyes at the commotion as though he weren’t in the thick of it not just thirty seconds beforehand. 

“Hey,” Mike replied. 

“Do you have room for one in the backseat?” 

“Don’t want to be in the cars with the couples?” Mike asked - unnecessarily, as Stan had already seemed exasperated with everyone since the moment that Mike had walked into the foyer. 

“I love them, but sometimes I want to murder them,” Stan said. “I mean, I don’t think Patty and I were like that, and we got married when we were young and even dumber than we are now.” 

Mike snorted. “I’m sure you two are exactly like that.” 

“What do you mean?” Stan asked. 

“You’re one of the most dramatic of us all,” Mike said, grinning as Stan’s expression became pinched. “It’s all of that ‘oh, I don’t _care_ and all of you are just _throwing_ me into this without any regard for what I want to do,’ woe is me BS.” 

“You’re not my friend,” Stan replied after a few moments. 

Mike laughed and nudged Stan’s shoulder with his own. “You see what I mean? Drama queen.” 

“Who?” came Richie’s voice from right behind Mike; Mike startled, not having heard Richie come up behind him. “Sorry, Mikey. 

“But, who?” 

“Stan,” Mike said, patting Richie’s arms as he leaned down and placed his chin on Mike’s shoulder. 

“He really is,” Richie agreed, reaching over to ruffle Stan’s hair. 

“Oh, are we making fun of Stan?” Bill asked from where he had rounded the table to take a seat across from the three of them. “Because that sounds like my idea of a good time.” 

“We’re actually not making fun of Stan,” Stan said crossly. 

Mike was flanked on his other side, then, by Eddie, and Bill was bracketed by Ben and Bev - who grinned at Stan as though he were prey, and she the predator. 

“Stan likes it when people point out his shit.” 

“Suddenly our friendship makes sense,” Bill said. 

“Thanks, Bill,” Stan replied, deadpan. 

“But on a serious note,” he continued, looking everyone in the eye - he held Mike’s last and smiled at him, small and sincere. “Thank you for calling. Thank you for getting us all back, and for keeping us together all these years even without us knowing.” 

“I’ll toast to that,” Ben said, raising an imaginary glass. 

“To the biggest mouse of us all!” 

Mike was pulled into a hug by Eddie after Richie planted a wet kiss on his cheek, crowded soon enough in by Stan who had taken residence in half of Mike’s chair. Richie joined, and after that Mike couldn’t see who entered the fray, but he knew that all seven of them were there at the kitchen table, holding onto one another like it was an ending - but it wasn’t, not really. 

“Okay,” Bev began after a few minutes and a few grumbles of aching knees and bad backs, “let’s get the fuck out of Derry, yeah? Pack up and hit the road.” 

“I concor,” Richie said.

They all untangled themselves from one another, then, and while Mike felt the literal temperature drop, he still felt the warmth their renewed friendship had imbued him with. 

“What do we do with the keys?” Eddie asked as they made their way out of the kitchen and into the hallway leading out. 

“Drop them through the mail slot,” Ben answered. “I checked with the proprietor when they came in this morning for checkout.” 

“They’re really stellar at their job,” Richie said, slinging his bag over his shoulder before taking Eddie’s with a wink. “Like, A-plus work, honestly. Dead body? No word. But make sure you leave the keys through the mail slot or you’ll lose your deposit.” 

The group was laughing as they headed out the door. 

After the lock clicked behind them, after Ben deposited the keys through the slot like requested, after everyone started to head towards the cars, bickering and laughing like they had ever left each other’s sides - after all of that, Mike hesitated. 

He took a breath, stared down the road that he knew would take him into downtown Derry, and squared his shoulders - it was time, it had to be time. 

“Good of you to join us,” Richie said as Mike made his way down the drive. “Thought you might have gotten lost or something.” 

“Nah,” Mike replied, nodding gratefully at Bill who opened the passenger-side door for him. “I’m not like Ben.” 

“That was one time,” Ben complained from where he had half gotten into the passenger seat of Bev’s car. “And it was the first time I got high, so I really don’t think it should count.” 

“Get in the car,” Stan commanded from where he had rolled down his window. “I want to get there before Patty does, oh my God, you can call each other from the cars. Bunch of children, I swear.”

“Fine, fine,” Richie said, jogging to his own rental with a salute. “I’ll have Spaghetti put on a conference call.” 

Car doors slammed shut around Mike and as he got settled in for the drive, he watched his friends all do the same. 

“Ready?” Bill asked, starting the car. 

“Yeah,” Mike replied. “Let’s hit it.”

* * *

Michael Hanlon **[Mike]** created the group chat **Losers Club 2.0**

**Mike** added William Denbrough **[Bill]**, Benjamin Hanscom **[Ben]**, Edward Kaspbrak **[Eddie]**, Beverly Marsh **[Bev]**, Richard Tozier **[Richie]**, and Stanley Uris **[Stan]** to the chat

**Mike** added Audra Phillips Denbrough **[Audra]** and Patricia Uris **[Patty]** to the chat

**[17:35] Mike** I thought that this would be nice to have. News, updates, things like that.

**[17:35] Mike** We probably won’t use it a lot, but who knows. 

**[17:36] Bev** love

**[17:36] Audra** 2.0???

** [17:37] Mike** I didn’t want to leave you and Patty out. 

**[13:37] Audra** I wish I met you before I met Bill. 

**[17:38] Mike** <3

**[17:39] Bill** I already regret telling Mike this was a good idea.

**Author's Note:**

> xoxo


End file.
